Masked Intrigue
by elfigreen14
Summary: Meg has known the Phantom for longer than he knows. Tragedy will strike both, and Erik will accompany Meg on the journey that may just make a star out of her.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N – Hi everyone. So this is my first Phanfiction, so this is what I will do: I am posting this prologue to my Meg/Erik story. If you think I should continue, please review/message me/let me know. I do not like to continue something if it does not get a good response. I respect all the readers of this piece as my superiors, as I am new to fan fiction. So if it's not working, please tell me. **

**Okay, here goes.**

Prologue – Little Meg

He had always been there. Ever since little Meg Giry could remember.

Why did everyone insist on calling her "little"? Perhaps because she was the most petite of the dancers; or perhaps everyone thought she was as innocent as a child. But they didn't know. No one knew, except Meg and her mother, what, or rather, _who_, lurked in the shadows of the Opera Populaire.

She had first laid eyes on him when she was about eleven years old. Observant as ever, Meg had noticed her mother slip away from the ballet lessons she taught the future stage troupe. The curious creature that she was, Meg followed her mother, careful not to let her footsteps fall too loudly. Madame Giry went to her private quarters, shifted her bed away from the wall, and pulled open a hidden door in the floor. Meg waited a few moments before she did exactly as her mother had done.

A ladder waited for her after she opened the door in the floor. Looking around carefully to see that she was indeed alone, Meg descended the ladder; but when she reached the bottom, she realized she had a choice to make. The tunnel wound two ways, to her left and straight ahead. She stood still for a second, listening for a clue as to which way to go. And she was not disappointed. From the tunnel to her left, she could hear the faint notes of an organ, playing a sullen tune. Meg headed for the organ.

It took her a few minutes, but finally, she reached a cave. But it was unlike any cave she'd ever seen in books. This grotto was furnished with candelabras everywhere, with curtains and mirrors lining the cave walls. A shallow lake separated her from what she suspected was the living area. Across it, she saw a desk, with drawings scattered all over the place. A few feet away, she saw the organ that had been played not moments ago. But there was no one there now.

Suddenly, she saw movement out of the corner of her right eye. Although a curtain was drawn, she could see through the thin fabric. What she saw astounded her: it was a man, about the age of her mother, preparing himself for a good night's rest. She watched him as he removed his boots and turned to his bed, in the shape of a swan. Meg drew in a sharp, but thankfully silent, gasp. The right side of his face was turned towards Meg, and she almost cried in horror.

His skin was shriveled extensively, and severely scarred from his eye to his lower cheek. Furthermore, Meg could swear that some of his tissue was exposed, the hair at the top of his head very thin. Meg tried her best not to cry, for she was quite shaken. As she attempted to calm herself, Meg felt a warm hand on her shoulder. She looked behind her to see her mother, with a sympathetic look on her face, and one finger over her lips. Madame Giry took her young daughter's hand in her own and led her back to the ladder and trap door in mutual silence. Meg was far too shaken to say anything anyhow.

Once back in her mother's room, Meg found her voice.

"Maman, what is wrong with him?" she wanted to know. Meg's curiosity was more furious than ever. She had to know just who this man was.

"Shh. Be still, my dear," her mother cooed. "That man is very strange, but he is a good person. He lives down where no one can see him. Do you know why?"

Meg nodded slowly. "He is not like others, is he?"

"That's right, my dear. I have been helping him for some time now, keeping him out of trouble and away from those who would hurt him. You must now do the same, Meg."

"But what can I do?" Meg inquired. "How can I help him?"

"We must keep his secret. You saw his face. You don't want anyone to hurt him, do you?" Madame knew she was asking a lot of her daughter, but now that she had seen him, there was no going back. "This opera house is the only home he has ever known. We mustn't let anyone know he is here. Do you understand?"

"Yes Maman." Meg understood the man. The opera house was her home too. She wouldn't know what to do if she wasn't here, dancing her days away.

And for eight years, she kept her promise. While dancing her way to the ballet chorus, she kept the man's secret. She hadn't laid eyes on him since that day, but she kept her mouth shut just the same.

It hadn't been easy though. In the last few years, he had become bolder, escaping from his underground home to spy on the rehearsals at the opera house. Meg had begun to hear stories from the stagehands, swearing they had seen a man in the rafters, watching the dancing girls from above. Her mother had taken care of these tales, though, turning them into ghost stories of the Phantom of the Opera.

But along with this title, the man seemed to grow _even bolder_, playing tricks on the actors, and even demanding a salary from the manager, Monsieur LeFevre. But Meg had made a promise. No matter how outrageous she thought his actions, she played her part quite well. The day everyone was introduced to the new managers, Andre and Firmin, the "Phantom" decided to give them his own welcome, with a scenic backdrop landing on their star, La Carlotta. That was Meg's cue…

"_He's here. The Phantom of the Opera…"_

Okay! Let me know what you guys think.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 1 – Shattered Illusion

As she descended into the depths of the underground tunnels of the opera house, Meg realized that she was not afraid. Nervous, yes, at what she might find; but Meg knew the Phantom would not hurt Christine. She had seen that night, as he sang to Christine as Don Juan, that he loved her very much. If she was frightened at all, it was for Raoul. He seemed like a good man, but to the Phantom, he was the rival. He was the one in danger.

Meg had really tried. When her best friend began telling her of a strange voice singing to her, Meg knew immediately who Christine spoke of. And she had tried to convince Christine that the voice she heard was nothing more than a dream. But Christine was not the one to blame. The supposed Phantom wore the fault here. He had become infatuated with Christine not long after her arrival in the ballet dormitories. At first, he may have seen Christine as a kindred spirit, without a family to speak of. But lately the Phantom had taken a more serious interest in Meg's friend, openly addressing her when she was alone, and even luring her into his hideaway.

But now was the first time he'd made his affection for her public, with an opera he'd written especially for Christine. Meg had thought it seemingly romantic, that a man would write an opera just for his beloved. Obviously Christine hadn't seen it this way, as she betrayed her Angel of Music, revealing his deformed nature to everyone in the Opera Populaire. Meg had screamed, not from terror, but from shock. Why had Christine done this to him? He didn't need to be humiliated in front of a public for her to turn him down. There were gentler ways to go about such things.

Meg tried to shake these thoughts from her head as she led the police officials down to the cave from so many years ago. Although she'd only been down once, Meg remembered every tunnel, every turn. Finally she reached the lake she remembered so well. But as she waded through the chilling waters, she realized that they were gone. She checked each of the rooms just to make sure, but he wasn't there, nor were Christine or Raoul. Had he let them go? The horde of people behind her paid no attention to the home the Phantom left behind, but rather kept on searching for the resident.

_Let them look_, she thought_. The farther he's gone from here, the better_. But where had he gone? Her mother had told Meg long ago that this was the only home he'd ever known. Where would he go now? Just then, Meg's attention was caught by a white shape on the rocks. She bent down to pick it up. His mask; he had left it behind. Meg instantly moved to the organ. His music was still there. He would come back. Meg knew music was one of the things the Phantom cherished the most. He wouldn't leave it behind, no matter how distraught he was.

So she waited. Meg turned to make sure all the people had left the Phantom's "lair." When she was certain they were all gone, she cautiously walked over to the bedroom, just in case she found anything unpleasant within it. No, all seemed exactly as she remembered from her brief visit years ago. It didn't seem as though the Phantom would come back anytime soon, so Meg indulged herself with a small wink of sleep in his bed. She laid in it, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath before drifting off. Pine needles and roses.

Erik waited in his hidden tunnel behind the mirror. He listened intently to know when the mob had quit his quarters. After waiting what seemed a suitable amount of time, Erik picked himself up off the ground and began to head back. Back to where he had brought his Angel, and then let her go.

Why? Why couldn't she accept him? He offered her everything he had, his music, his home, his heart. She seemed to be the only one who understood his twisted nature. Even after she had discovered his distortion, she continued to return to him in song. Erik had truly thought then that she was the one. And she was the one; the one who deceived him by tearing away his porcelain face, exposing him to the world's contempt.

Erik attempted to push these thoughts away. If he continued to think about Christine and her _vicomte_, he may spiral into complete depression. He slowly pulled back the curtain covering his escape route, wary of any lingering souls in his domain. When he was certain no one was there, Erik stepped out of his hiding place and strode to his organ. He may have been devastated by his Angel's denial of him, but he wasn't about to leave his music behind. Other than Christine, it was the one thing he cared most for in the world. At the moment, though, he didn't feel like playing at all. He had a horrid headache, and felt a little rest would clear his mind.

What he found in his bed was not comfort, but a girl. Meg Giry. Why was she still here, and more importantly, in his bed? He stepped toward her to see if she really was asleep. Yes, there was no doubt she had drifted off into dreams. She seemed so at peace, her golden locks framing the nearly perfect complexion of her face. Erik also noticed that clutched in Meg's hands was his mask. Had she planned on keeping it as a souvenir of the soon-to-be infamous night? He wouldn't give her the satisfaction.

"Get up Marguerite!" Erik barked at her. "This is my bed. And my mask!" He ripped the porcelain face away from her as she awoke with a start.

Meg sat up on the bed, rubbing the sleep away from her eyes. He called her by her name. What else did he know about her?

"Did you hear me? I said away with you! Let me sleep in peace."

She quickly got up off the bed, but continued to stare at him in awe. He had positioned his mask back on his face, which somehow made him more intriguing to Meg. Unlike the first time she had seen him, back when she was a child, she knew exactly what she wanted to say to him.

"Monsieur Fantome! Is Christine alright? Where is she?" she inquired.

"Have no fear. I did not harm your friend. I suppose she is back on the surface, with her precious vicomte. But more to _my_ point, what are you doing here? Won't your mother be searching for you?" Erik knew how protective Madame Giry was of her girls, especially her daughter and Christine.

Meg shrugged her shoulders. "Perhaps. But I wanted to know if you were alright. I know tonight has been just as trying for you as for the rest of us. Maybe even more so."

"There is no need to concern yourself with a beast like me," he said sharply. "Now, if you would be so kind as to leave me in my solitude?"

He spoke with a condescending tone, and Meg knew there would be no speaking with him just now. So she resigned her mission of goodwill until tomorrow. "Very well. Will you still be here tomorrow?" Meg wanted to see him again, if only to make sure he had not done something insensible. And also to steal another glance at his face. He had grown into a very handsome man, she noticed. The left side of his face was finely shaped, with strong cheekbones and skin that looked almost as smooth as the porcelain that lay on the right side of him.

"I can't exactly go anywhere, child." Erik was beginning to get agitated with this girl. She was all too persistent; she resembled her mother in that way. "I'm something of a fugitive at the moment, if you hadn't noticed."

"Do you think they'll come back for you?"

Erik couldn't help but let a boisterous laugh loose. "I find that highly unlikely. They didn't find me here the first time. They aren't prudent enough to come back a second time."

Meg sighed inwardly. She didn't want anything bad to happen to him. She could see that beneath his gruff pretense, he was a kind soul.

"Well, alright," she said turning away. "Good night, Monsieur Fantome."

Erik cringed. He knew that name didn't belong to him anymore. The illusion had been shattered, and he had been revealed to be a mere man. No, "Phantom" wouldn't do, not anymore.

"Erik," he called to her.

Meg spun around on the spot, as only a ballerina would. "Excuse me, sir?"

"I am no longer the Phantom of the Opera. My name is Erik."

Her mouth gave way to a light smile. She was delighted that he had confided his true name to her. Erik. It suited him exceptionally well. Meg bowed her head and gave him a small curtsy, as if meeting him for the first time.

"Good night, then, Monsieur Erik."

"Good night, Mademoiselle Giry."

**A/N – Hello, me again. Is the story flowing well? I can never tell; I just begin to type feverishly! Please please please review! Love once again to RachyBaby09! I seriously don't think any of this would be possible without you! 3**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N – Okay, sorry I have taken so long for this chapter, but I just wanted to make sure **_**I**_** knew where this story was going. Also, had to do some research, you know, to be accurate! **

**Some shout outs are due, I think:**

**RacyBaby09 – Could not have done this without your encouragement! You are the reason for it all! **

**Ace of Gallifrey – It took me some time, but I know how I will fix the Erik problem you mentioned. Next chapter, though! Had to tie things up with Meg & Madame first! Thanks for confirming my thoughts on the subject!**

**suscintilla – First, let me just say, HUGE FAN of your story! And thanks are definitely in order! It showed me I had to step up my game to be in the company of awesome writers like you and my #1 inspiration! (You know who you are!) Hope I do you proud!**

**OprGhst – I know you only reviewed w/four words, but honestly, they gave me the jolt I needed to get out of my slump! Infinite thank you's!**

**Okay, let us continue. This may seem slow right now, but I promise it will get better! Enjoy! R&R!**

Chapter 2 – Ordinary

Meg somehow found her way out of what was left of the opera house, climbing over the rubble left behind by the police siege. Although Erik had crashed the chandelier and burned the entire stage and theatre seats, it was the police and the angry mob who'd been responsible for the further ruin of the opera house: mirrors shattered everywhere, the dormitories ransacked, candelabras missing. It was just as if Meg's home had been robbed, only worse. The opera house seemed beyond repair, and she doubted anyone would want to rebuild it soon. No, most likely, Messieurs Andre and Firmin would sell the land, demolish the theatre, or both.

Meg found her mother waiting for her, sitting on the steps that led to the theatre. Before she stood to face her daughter, Meg could've sworn she heard her mother suppress a sob. And Madame Giry _never _wept.

"Marguerite Antoinette Giry, where have you been?" Her mother wasted no time in chastising her. "Do you have any idea how long I've been waiting here, praying that you had not died?" And just as quickly as her mother's anger had appeared, it subsided even faster, giving way to tears and a tight embrace.

"Maman, I am fine, as you can see," Meg informed her. "I did as you said. I kept the crowd away from the underground as long as I could. But when they finally got to be too much for me, I offered to lead the way down, taking my time to get there. But when we arrived at the lair, no one was there. Not Christine, Raoul, nor the Phantom."

Madame pursed her lips, as she always did when she began to think. "How odd. I do hope Christine and Raoul made it out alright…"

As much as she wanted to tell her mother about her encounter with Erik, she decided against it, for the time being. Erik was very unstable at the moment, and Madame Giry would hardly approve of the new acquaintance.

"I am sure they are safe, Maman," she reassured her mother. "If the Phantom loves her as much as we think he does, he will have let her go. You cannot lovingly keep something which does not wish to be kept."

"Wise words, my love." Madame Giry took Meg's hand in hers as she stared off into the sky, deceptively peaceful and clear after such a turbulent night. "Well, we have had enough adventure for one night, I should think. Come."

Meg looked at her mother, puzzled. "But Maman, where are we to go? We have no home, and no means to earn wages anymore."

"My dear, you cannot think that I am so unprepared as to not have planned for the worst. I had hoped it would not come to this, but I have prepared for it, nevertheless." Madame began to walk west of the opera house, Meg following not far behind. "I have put aside a small amount of my salary every month for the past eight years. It should be enough to lodge at the inn for at least two months, while we look for new positions."

"The inn?" Meg cried out. "We cannot stay there Maman! Odette has told me about the inn. She says it is full of drunkards and prostitutes!"

Madame couldn't help but chuckle a little at her daughter's naivety. "Darling, there is more than one inn here in Paris. We shall walk to the more pleasant side of town for awhile, then settle at the L'auberge de Deux Chévres. I know of someone who may be able to help us there."

And so, with her mother leading the way, Meg began the long walk to the other side of Paris. She had never had to venture far from the opera house. Quick trips to the local market and occasional visits to church were the only times Meg had left her sanctuary. She knew everything would be different in the "real world," where most everyone else spent their time. What was she to do with her time now? Would Madame expect her to find a job? Or worse, find a husband?

_Ugh, what a thought, _Meg said to herself? _Why would anyone want to get married, and at so young an age?_ Of course, to be fair, Meg had not had the best education when it came to matters of the heart. Her learning came mostly from witnessing lovers' quarrels and sickening moments of skirt-chasing from inside the opera house. The best example she had ever seen of love and romance was the same mess that had taken her home from her. And yet, even though Meg and her mother had no permanent home to go to, it was a story Meg repeated over and over in her head.

At first, Meg had considered Christine lucky, being pursued by two men. That was before deaths and disappearances had ensued. But there was no denying it: Erik definitely had it in him to be a most passionate lover. There was no other way to describe the intensity Meg had seen when he had proclaimed his emotions to Christine. The way his voice seemed to caress Christine's every curve, the way she had melted under his touch when Erik stroked her porcelain skin; it was nothing short of romantic. And it made it all the more incredible to think that right after this public display of obvious affection, Christine had the audacity to destroy the life of her angel with one swift move of her hand. It made Meg question her friend's principles.

Once Meg and her mother made it to Les Deux Chévres, they were immediately welcomed by the innkeeper's wife, Madame Badeau. Apparently, she was a frequent patron of the Opera Populaire, and was absolutely devastated to hear about the incident. She had also talked her husband into lodging a few other dancers at the inn for a few days free of charge. Madame Giry and Meg were given the same invitation, which Madame heartily accepted, but just for one night, after which she intended to pay for their room. Meg was only half paying attention to the women's conversation. Her mind was still on Erik, and how he would be coping with his protégée's betrayal. Meg hoped he would not do anything rash of stupid. As she lay down in her bed that night, before closing her eyes, she prayed to God to watch over Erik that night. She even offered her own guardian angel up,

_Lord knows Erik needs all the angels in heaven to help him through this._

And she was right. For at that very moment, the former Phantom of the Opera lay in his bed, like a child, weeping and crying to the heavens for his Christine to return to him.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N – Was that terribly evil of me? Sorry, I don't mean to be. Even**_** I**_** felt horrible when writing that last line! I hate to see Erik in pain, as I'm sure we all do.**

**As promised, this chapter is dedicated to Ace of Gallifrey, for pointing me in the right direction as to Erik's emotional state. Hope I got it right! Lots of love, and hope you enjoy!**

Chapter 3 – More Notes

Only after the Giry girl had left him entirely alone did Erik succumb to the tears and heart-wrenching pain that had built inside him. He had wept when letting Christine go; now, however, the reality of it all had set in, and he felt no reason to hold it in anymore.

It was as though he had seen a glimpse of heaven when Christine had brought her lips to his. Erik did not think he would ever get to experience the warmth of another's lips over his own. He had only ever known coldness and contempt. But warmth was not the only thing he felt when his Angel had kissed him. He knew, deep within the confines of his heart, that she did not love him. All she felt for him was pity, and even that emotion had diminished when he ensnared her viscomte in his Punjab lasso. How could he keep her when he knew he would cause her such unhappiness?

And yet, he felt as if she would return. He did not know, as he wrenched in his bed and continually cried her name, that she was not coming. Erik honestly felt as though his Angel would not truly abandon him. But hours passed; the night came and went, and still she had not returned. He was certain she would return, ready to put aside her hate and pity and learn to love him.

_Ha! Love a monster like you? What were you thinking? She's no different than anyone else. Repulsed by the horror you call a face._

Erik shut his eyes tightly, trying to ignore one of the many voices in his head. He thought she had been different, understood his situation. She had come to him so easily when he sang to her, but flew away in an instant at the sight of his face. Was that to be his curse? To be nothing more than a beautiful voice, lost in the wind, while his face was condemned by the world?

He knew he could not wait for her any longer. He had to prepare to leave. Erik didn't want to go anywhere; the underground, though devoid of any warmth and joy, was his home. But if the police did come back, as Meg had suggested…

_Meg. And Madame Giry._

Where would they go? Antoinette had been at the opera house longer than Erik himself, and this was the only home he had known Meg to have. It suddenly dawned on Erik that not only had he lost his Angel, but he had also destroyed the home of hundreds of people. He didn't feel as bad as any other person might have. After all, they were hardly his friends; tenants, was more like it. But he did feel a sort of guilt when it came to Antoinette and Meg. Antoinette shared her haven with him when he needed it, and he had watched her daughter grow up in the opera house. Meg hadn't known anywhere else. Remorse poured over him like a torrential storm. He knew what he had to do. Erik wasn't keen on the idea, but if didn't want the guilt haunting him, he had to do it. Erik sat down at his writing desk and reached for two clean sheets of parchment and his feather quill.

Meg had woken up before her mother that morning, seemingly out of character for both of them. She thought it best to let her sleep. They had both passed through a storm, and rest would be good for her. Meg wished she could have slept well, but her night had been occupied by a rather disturbing dream.

_The police had been chasing _her _through the opera house. For what reason, she had no idea; but she was running all the same. She ran through the corridors that led to the box seating on the second level, when suddenly she dropped through a trap in the floor. She fell for what seemed like hours, and landed in ice cold water. She fought her way to the surface, her breathing fast and shallow. Meg didn't know how, but she found the strength to swim through the lake, and found herself once again in the Phantom's lair. Just as she pulled herself out of the water, the whole lair spontaneously caught on fire. In the middle of the flames stood Christine, her eyes fixed on a motionless figure on the ground._

"_Meg. He's dead. What can I do?"_

_She rushed over to the figure, and saw his chest rise and fall gently._

"_No Christine. He's alive, but we must get him out of here."_

"_I have to leave, Meg. Raoul is waiting for me." She began to walk away._

"_Christine! What about the Phantom? Your Angel?"_

_Christine turned back only for a final glance. "I can't help him Meg." And all of a sudden, the fire consumed them all. _

Meg, sitting in at one of the many dining tables, tried to force the dream from her mind, but it kept coming back to her. Luckily, as she stirred her morning tea, a distraction came her way in the form of Elaina, one of her fellow dancers. Elaina was ever the optimist, even in the grimmest of situations, such as this one. She skipped over to Meg as she descended from the stairs.

"Hello Meg! How are you this morning?" Elaina asked in her chirpy, birdlike voice. Meg did not respond but instead turned her head towards Elaina, displaying her weary face.

"Right. Silly question, I know. But it could have been much worse," she said, recalling the events of the previous night. "I'm just thankful to God that we made it out with our lives."

This made Meg remember something important. There were only a handful of ballerinas at Les Deux Chévres; where were the rest of the girls?

"Elaina, do you happen to know where the rest of the girls are?" Meg inquired. "Maman will want to know when she wakes up."

Elaina scrunched her nose at the mention of the other girls. "Well…Meg, you know how many of them spent their time when not at rehearsals. Always…um, looking for a good time. I believe many of them, um, took to the streets for, um, employment…"

Meg held up her hand in a signal to stop. She knew exactly where they were, and what their new "positions" required of them.

"But I do believe that Gwen and Dahlia took a carriage back to Montmartre," Elaina said hurriedly, trying to raise Meg's spirits. "They have family there, an aunt and uncle, if I remember correctly."

This made Meg feel slightly better. It was good to know that some of her friends still had their wits about them. And she was glad Elaina was there with her. She was one of the only people in the Opera Populaire that Meg could confide in, besides her mother and Christine. Now, with Christine whisked away by Raoul, it seemed Meg had only one friend left, unless she counted Erik. But it didn't seem as though Erik would refer to her as a friend. "Nuisance" was probably the word he would have used for her.

Her musings over her and Erik's relationship was interrupted by Madame Badeau, eager to hear the opera gossip. Meg was not up to storytelling at the moment, but Elaina saved her, launching into a detailed description of the incident. But before Elaina had even gotten to the crashing chandelier, Madame Badeau remembered her duty as innkeeper's wife.

"Oh! Meg, before I forget, I have something for you." She hurried into the back area, and returned almost immediately. "These arrived for you and your mother this morning. They appear to be from the same person."

Meg reached across the table for the letters Madame Badeau held in her hand. One look at the envelopes, and Meg's jaw dropped to the floor. They were from_ him_.

"Thank you, Madame," Meg slurred as she swiftly got up from the table, and strode back to her room. She would read hers first. But what reason could he possibly have for sending her a letter? So eager to find out, she threw open the door to her room, locked it behind her, and settled on her bed as she broke the seal, surprisingly devoid of the wax skull that adorned all of his letters.

_Marguerite,_

_As you may know, I have sent your mother a letter, asking her to return to the opera house. I have some things to discuss with her of great importance. However, I should also like to request that you accompany her, for I feel I must have a word with you as well. I expect you to enter the underground not five minutes after your mother emerges. I assume that you will be able to find your way down without further instruction. I beseech you that you do not keep me waiting._

_E._

She stared at the letter long after she had finished it, then proceeded to read it again. Not twelve hours ago he had demanded that she leave him alone. Now he was _inviting her back down?_ It didn't make the least bit of sense, but she didn't question it either. Meg had planned on going back down anyway, with or without his permission. She truly empathized with him, and didn't want to see him hurt more than he already was. His invitation was a good sign. It meant he was still capable of forming coherent thoughts and putting them down on paper. With a small sigh of relief, Meg went to deliver her mother's respective letter. She knocked on the door, hoping not to wake her mother.

"Come in, my dear." Meg opened the door to find her mother finishing with her braided hair. "And how are you this morning, Meg?"

Meg didn't have time for pleasantries with her mother. She wanted to know if Madame would do as he asked or not.

"Maman, you have a letter. It's from him."

He could hear soft footsteps approaching. So, Antoinette had decided to come after all. Erik knew she would. She was the closest thing to a friend he'd ever had, though he knew they weren't quite friends. Friends did not destroy each other's homes. She had done almost anything he'd ever asked, yet he had never repaid her for her eternal kindness and protection. Maybe he did deserve this fate, a life of loneliness. But before he could dwell on that subject any further, she had appeared before him.

"Erik."

"Antoinette. I see you received my letter."

"And what if that letter had fallen into someone else's hands?" she began to reprimand him, as if he were a child. "What if Meg had opened that letter, Erik? What would you do if she had found her way to you?"

From what Erik could gather, Meg had not told her mother of their encounter the previous night. It seemed she was a bit more clever than she let on. One word to her mother, and Antoinette wouldn't have been so level-headed at the moment.

"You think I would harm her? What reason would I have for that? None of this is her fault. I do have some control left in me, Madame." Would everyone think of him as a monster from now on?

Antoinette lowered her eyes. "Forgive me, Erik. But you haven't exactly shown much self-constraint in the past few weeks."

Erik felt it best to get to business, lest she continue to scold him. "Antoinette, I need you to go to the bank for me. I need to prepare to leave."

"What do you mean leave? Erik, where will you go? The world believes you dead. No, it is best you stay here."

"No. If they come looking for me again, I don't plan on offering myself to the authorities. I must get out while I can. But to do that, I need money…"

"Erik, you are perfectly safe here. No one dares to come back here. Until Andre and Firmin decide what to do with the building, it will be left alone. There is no better place for you right now than here."

"Antoinette, listen to me!"

"No Erik. You listen to me. I hold myself at a high standard when it comes to keeping those I care about safe. Although you have done much to diminish yourself in my eyes, I still care for you. And _you will stay here._"

Erik rolled his eyes in frustration. There would be no reasoning with Antoinette just now. Perhaps when she left, he could ask Meg to do it. She was a little more impressionable than her mother, although with the same spirit.

"Fine. Don't help me. But if it would be alright with you, I would like to speak to your daughter."

She glared at him with a more defensive look than before. "Why? What do you have to say to her?"

Erik was dreading telling Antoinette, but he imagined she would find out from Meg soon enough.

"I must apologize to her."

She gaped at him, her eyes wider than she thought they could go. _Erik, apologize? _

"Whatever for, Erik?"

He laughed a bit, but not from any joy. "Antoinette, I've left you and your daughter without a home. I do not regret any of my actions, but I do regret not contemplating the consequences of my actions. You gave me a home when I had none, yet I have taken yours away."

They remained in silence for what seemed like an hour, though only seconds passed. Madame turned to leave, a single tear escaping.

"Erik, there is something you should know."

Meg sat silently in her mother's old room. Before the fire, it had been one of the simplest rooms in the opera house, but most definitely the warmest. Meg went there when she felt didn't feel like putting up with the constant gossip in the ballet dormitories. She would take her favorite book off her mother's shelf. _Jane Eyre._ She walked to the shelves to see if the book was still there. Madame's room had unfortunately not been spared in the police raid, and was in a state of disarray. Luckily, though, Meg found her book in its usual spot.

She was about to begin it for the hundredth time when her mother emerged from the floor, just as Meg had so many years ago.

"Is he alright, Maman?" she asked, hoping for an answer in the affirmative. She was not disappointed.

"Yes, my dear. For now. I do not know how long his head will stay clear, but as of now, he is fine." Madame heaved a breathy sigh, looking her daughter in the eye as she tucked a strand of Meg's hair behind her ear.

"What is it, Maman? Did he say something to upset you?"

Madame's mouth curled into a comforting smile. "No child. But if you are willing, he would like to speak to you."

Meg did not feign surprise at her mother's words. He had asked her mother's permission? Well, at least now Meg didn't have to go underground in secret. And if something bad did happen, her mother was bound to come looking for her.

"Me?"

"Yes Meg. I suggest you do not keep him waiting. As I said before, I do not know how long his mind will be stable. Oh, and please, try not to be longer than an hour."

Madame quit the room, and left Meg alone, with her book in her hands and the trapdoor open.

**A/N – Can you guess what Madame told Erik? Oh, I know you can! Sorry if this was long! It all just came to me as I was typing! R&R! I'll try to update again real soon. Love to all! 3**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N – If the switches of POVs gets confusing, please speak up! I'm trying page breaks, but they aren't transferring…I have another strategy, though, if it is too confusing! Sorry, now enjoy!**

Chapter 4 – Revelation

As she entered his dominion, Meg held her breath. What exactly would she find? A shattered man? A furious spirit? Summoning up all her bravery, she walked into his sight.

She found him sitting on his swan bed, almost exactly as she had eight years ago, the left side of his face turned towards her. He stared at the ground, and did not stir, but Meg knew he had noticed her presence. They stood in mutual silence, neither of them moving a muscle. Finally, he spoke.

"How did you sleep? Or perhaps where you slept would be a better question," he said as he turned to look at her, mask still in place.

Meg gave him a puzzled look. He was rather calm for a man who had just had his heart broken. She was initially taken aback by his unnatural serenity, but recovered fast enough to answer his question.

"Fine, I suppose. We found lodging at Les Deux Chévres, about three miles from here," she answered, matching his cool composure. She felt like asking him how he had slept, but that could be the thing to send him back into his violent spiral. She waited in silence, eyes on the ground and her hands in front of her, book still in hand. Meg sensed that he got up off the bed, and she saw him make his way towards her.

"Marguerite, listen to what I'm about to tell you, because I will never repeat myself." He ran a hand through his sandy brown hair as he took in a deep breath. Meg wondered as to what it was that he might say. Had he sent for her only to tell her never to come back again?

"I apologize."

She gaped at him, blinking her eyes repeatedly, as if what Erik said had been some sort of ventriloquist trick. An apology? From the Phantom of the Opera?

"What?"

He rolled his eyes at her as he walked away. "I told you I wasn't going to repeat myself, girl. Don't you listen?"

"Erik, what do you have to apologize for?" She truly didn't understand the meaning of it.

"Marguerite, where would you have slept last night, had I not destroyed the opera house?" he asked, his voice growing increasingly louder and callous with every word.

Meg shrank as his voice grew. "Um, here, I suppose, in the dormitories."

"Exactly. I destroyed the only home you have ever known. Now I have apologized for it, and now you may go." Erik waved his hand at the cave from which Meg had emerged. The passage under her mother's bed had led to a tunnel that did not have to cross the lake. She could have walked away. She could have.

But she was Meg Giry. And she would not be sent away like a servant girl.

"Tell me, Monsieur Erik. Did you honestly think you could get rid of me that easily?" she asked with a scowl on her face, hands now on her hips. "For all I know, you could have spent the evening in torturous hallucinations and heartache, and you expect me to just go away?"

Erik shut his eyes tightly in frustration. He didn't want to yell at Meg, but if that was what it took to scare her off, he would have to resort to his fear tactics.

"I suggest you keep your nose out from where it does not belong, girl," he said between gritted teeth. "I asked you politely to leave, and as I said, I do not enjoy repeating myself.

He towered over Meg, much like a phantom would have. She did not avert her eyes, however, and met his intensely blue gaze. His eyes, she noticed glinted very much like sapphires when he was upset.

"Very well, Erik. I'll leave. But don't think for a second that we are through with this. You have many things on your mind, and if you keep them there, you will surely go mad."

Erik scoffed. "My dear, haven't you noticed? I've already gone mad. I let the one person I have ever loved leave me."

"That's the problem Erik. Are you quite certain you really loved Christine?"

Erik swiftly took hold of Meg's arms and shook her furiously. "How dare you! Insolent, stupid girl! How dare you question my love for Christine! You claim to know me, having discovered me as a child?" Meg perked her ears. He knew? But she was sure he had not seen her all those years ago. Or was she? "You know nothing of me! What would you know on the subject of love, anyhow?" He let go of her so suddenly that Meg fell to the floor, her book falling from her hands and at Erik's feet. Not letting her bravery wane, though, Meg picked up the book, lifted herself off the ground, and went on.

"I know enough that what you felt for her was not love! You do not haunt someone you love. You do not keep watch over them night and day, monitoring their every move. Love is kindness, and trust, and compassion, and sympathy." Meg walked over to Erik's writing desk, where several of his portraits of Christine lay. "This is obsession, Erik," she said, holding up a charcoal sketch of Christine's figure. Meg then walked over and pointed to the wax model of Christine, now void of a wedding dress. "This is idolization, adoration, and worship. Erik, you have devoted more than ten years of your life to her, molding her into your idea of perfection. But you must realize, no matter how well you taught her, she is her own person, and her mind has its own thoughts. Raoul's appearance no doubt reminded her of how safe and carefree she was when her father was still alive. That is why she did not love you, as you wanted her to. She needs someone who will put her mind at rest; someone who will make sure she has not a care in the world. Your affections frightened her, and she did not know what to do with them."

Meg heaved a substantial sigh. She looked at Erik, who had not said a single word throughout her whole oration. She could tell though, that he was about to erupt on her, for his eyes raged into a violent shade of storm blue. Nevertheless, she stood her ground.

Erik viciously tore the book from Meg's hands and ripped it at the binding. Her jaw dropped to the cavern ground. He then proceeded to throw the remnants of the book in the water, at which point Meg's chestnut eyes gleamed with tears. Erik reached for Meg's jaw, gripping it with an intense hold; Meg was certain if he applied anymore force, her jaw would be crushed to dust.

"Marguerite, this is my last warning," he growled fiercely. Meg thought for a moment he sounded like a lion roaring, ready to kill. "Leave here. And if you do come back, you will be joining your precious book at the bottom of the lake." He shoved her face away, stalking back to his bed in an almost rage. Meg attempted to stifle her tears as she massaged her aching jaw and began to walk away. She had almost disappeared into the tunnel, but not before turning to him one more time.

"That one was my favorite."

_Impudent, foolish girl! Who does she think she is?_

Erik summoned up every bit of self-constraint he had to not knock over each and every candelabra in his lair. Why add to the disarray the mob had already caused? He ungraciously dropped himself onto his bed, letting his face rest in his hands. Despite himself, he swiftly tore into one of his bed cushions, his anger raging. Erik once again got to his feet, unable to stay still as Meg's words coursed through his mind. Why had they had such an effect on him? He knew his feeling for Christine were true…didn't he?

_Doubting yourself. Maybe you aren't so sure._

God, those damned voices! Not a moment of peace. Of course, Erik hadn't had a moment's peace in quite some time now.

_Peace never came from your pursuit of Christine. Only heartache and tragedy. Loved ones do not cause you heartache and tragedy. _

But he did love Christine. Since the moment he first heard her sing, he had needed her voice…

_Her voice. You didn't love her. Her voice was what enchanted you._

No, that wasn't true either. He loved Christine for her beauty. Another with Christine Daae's looks, there certainly was not. Just the thought of her chocolate curls against her pearly complexion sent his heart aflame.

_Beauty is not solely on the outside. Did you ever look inside of Christine's soul?_

Erik pondered this query. He had never thought to question Christine's soul. He believed that deep within her, she loved him as he did her.

_Yes, what a woman. Devoted to the music, yet repulsed by the instrument. How shallow._

"Enough!" Erik was quite finished with these arguments within himself. He set himself back on the bed, this time with the intention of actually getting some sleep. But as sleep did not come so easily, his thought again flew to Meg's accusations. The more he thought about it, the more angered he got. If his Angel did love him so much, why had she fled from him at the mere sight of his face? Wasn't she the one who was supposed to look past that? Their musical connection was of the highest degree. Unfortunately, that connection had not translated into amorous sentiments, at least not on her part.

Erik came to the horrible conclusion that his love for Christine hinged on his hopes. Hopes that she would learn to love him, inside and out. But now he knew. She did not love him; only his music. And with that revelation, Erik wept into the night.

Meg quickly dried her tears as she neared the ladder beneath the trapdoor. She did not need her mother questioning her further on an incident she would rather forget. As Meg climbed through the opening, she saw her mother facing the doorway, her back towards Meg. She was clutching her chest while she coughed severely. Meg rushed hastily to her mother's side.

"Maman! What is wrong?"

Madame managed to catch her breath between coughs, gasping for air. "Nothing, my child. It is probably from the smoke that still lingers from the fire. Come, let us walk back to the lodge."

Meg took her mother's arm as they strode toward the exit. Somehow, though, Meg could sense that Madame was not alright.

**A/N – Hello! Sorry about the slight hiatus. Real life was demanding my attention. Plus, I did some major rethinking about the plot of the story, and I think I finally have it set! But I do not promise anything anymore. I'll be busy with final papers & the like, but school ends the first week of May, so I should update more regularly after that! For now, R&R! Much love to all! **


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 5 – Complication

It took several days to set in, but Madame has most definitely come down with something. That afternoon after they had emerged from the Populaire's ruins, she had already shown signs of a weakening demeanor. As they had walked back to Les Deux Chévres, Meg had noticed her mother walking at a slightly slower pace than usual. Madame was a very efficient woman, and tried to get from one place to another as fast as possible, so her slowed steps worried Meg.

Now, however, she was not just worried but scared. The day after, a fever had taken hold of Madame. And although she insisted on helping Madame Badeau around the inn, she moved around very slowly, and could not carry anything heavier than a bowl of fruit. The day after that, she wasn't able to arise from her bed at all. Madame Badeau had done all she could for the fever, tried to sweat it out, cool her down, but nothing. The next step was to call in a doctor.

He came to the inn, examined her mother while Meg watched in anxiety, biting her nails, a habit she had only recently returned to. Finally, the doctor motioned for her to follow him out of the room. Meg closed the door behind her as she waited for him to say something.

"Well? Is she going to be alright or not, monsieur?" she demanded to know.

The elderly man removed his glasses to look at Meg straight in the eyes. Surely it couldn't be so bad – Meg's mother was a resilient woman, who wouldn't be conquered by something as menial as a fever. But now, as she thought about it, Meg had never so much as seen her mother cough or sneeze. She had always made sure to take care of the ballet corps' health, both physical and emotional. But when had Meg ever seen her mother take a break, or a day off for herself?

"You should know, Mademoiselle Giry, that this fever has a tight hold on your mother," the doctor said solemnly. "I'm afraid there is nothing we can do but wait. Only time will tell when God decides to send for her."

"No!" Meg refused to accept this. With tears threatening to spill from her eyes, she rushed to her room and pulled on her cloak before heading downstairs. If there was one person who she knew could cure her mother, it was Erik. He was skilled in many areas, medicine just being one of his many talents. Surely Erik would not scold her again for revisiting his lair; not after she explained her mother's grave situation. If what she knew was true, Erik owed his life to her mother. Before she could run through the door, however, she was met by Elaina.

"Meg, where are you going?" she asked, startled by Meg's hurriedness. "What did the doctor say?"

"Elaina, I can't explain now, but I must go see someone. He may be the only one who can help my mother now. If I am not back by morning, come look for me at the Opera's ruins."

Her friend looked more puzzled than ever. "The Opera? But Meg, who could you possibly – "

"Elaina, please, I don't have time to explain! Just do as I say!" Meg left Elaina dumbstruck at the inn's threshold as she strode into the night.

XXX

Erik sat on his bed, the bottle in his hand nearly empty, when he heard footsteps echo through the underground. Could it possibly be…?

His wide eyes dropped to the ground when he saw it was only Meg who had returned. She looked overwrought with sadness as she approached him.

"Meg. Why have you returned?" He asked, his words a bit slurred together. "Didn't I specifically – "

She tore the bottle away from his hands furiously, tears now flowing down her cheeks.

"Enough wallowing in self-pity, Erik," she said. "I need your help."

Not knowing where it came from, Erik let a bitter laugh escape from his chest. "Really? You need my help? What makes you think I would help you?"

Suddenly, Meg could not hold herself together for a second longer. She broke down in sobs right in front of him, falling to her knees, her face buried in her hands.

"Erik, I don't know what else to do! Maman, she is dying! The doctor says he can't do anything for her! I thought, perhaps you could…" She was unable to finish, her sobs racking her small frame. Erik watched her, unsure of how to react. He knew he would help her, there was no doubt of that. Antoinette had taken pity on him and helped him when he had needed someone the most. It was finally time to return the favor.

No, what had him confused was how to comfort Meg. He had never been overly emotional about much, except when it came to her…But how was he to handle a sobbing girl at his feet? He tried to move her back to her feet, when very abruptly she wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face in his chest. Erik stood there for a moment, hesitant to return the gesture. He had never been hugged before, for any reason. But he decided Meg needed to be comforted, so he reluctantly encircled her in his arms, jut for a moment. She then turned to look at him, her eyes still dewy with tears.

"Will you come see her Erik? I wouldn't be asking if I didn't think you could help her. Please?" She pleaded softly with her warm, sad eyes as well as with her words.

Erik held her by her shoulders, his cerulean gaze locked with her caramel one. "Of course."

They moved stealthily through the night, Meg following his every step, being careful not to be seen by anyone. Once they arrived at the inn, Meg went in through the front entrance, while Erik snuck his way up the trellis just beside Madame's balcony. He would wait there for Meg.

"Meg, where have you been?" Elaina wanted to know upon her arrival. "The doctor's already left – "

Meg did not have time for chastisement from her friend. "Elaina, do not let anyone, _anyone_, come up to my mother's room for the rest of the night, alright? I will be looking after her this evening. Understood?"

"Well, yes, alright, but Meg–" It was no use. Meg was halfway up the staircase as Elaina called to her. Once in her mother's room, Meg called softly to Erik, hoping he had made it up alright.

"I'm here," he responded, coming in from the balcony. In his left hand he carried a small satchel, containing all the remedies he had concocted for his own use. Never had he suffered from illness for more than a day, thanks to his aptitude in chemistry, self-learned from so many years buried in medical journals. He watched as Meg rushed to her mother's right side, gingerly trying to wake her.

"Maman? Maman, look who's come to help you."

Madame opened her eyes slowly, first seeing her daughter smiling weakly at her. Then out of the corner of her left eyes, she caught a flash of white in the darkness. "Erik," she said in an almost whisper, not having to turn around to know it was him. Erik nodded .

"Yes Maman," Meg began. "I've brought Erik to help you. He'll see to it that you are up and about by noon tomorrow. Won't you Erik?" He could see she was fighting back tears again. He only nodded once again.

How could he tell her that he couldn't promise anything? Meg was so confident that he, the great Opera Ghost, the Phantom of the Opera, could do anything. He didn't know whether his remedies would cure Antoinette fully, but he would be damned if he didn't give it his best try. He owed her that much, at least.

"No Meg. Erik cannot help me anymore. No one can," Antoinette whispered. "It is simply my time, child."

"Antoinette, if you'll allow me, I think perhaps you may feel a little better if…"

"Erik, no. You know as well as I that there is no saving me now. I appreciate your intent, both of you. But this is my time."

"Maman, no!" Meg had begun weeping again, holding on to her mother's hand as tightly as she could, as if that would keep her in this world. "Please Maman, you must let Erik try!"

Antoinette reached out for her daughter's tear-stained face, thumbing away the tears that still fell. "My darling Meg. You've had to grow up much too quickly, I fear. That is my fault. I'm sorry."

Meg, still kneeling at her mother's side, rested her head next to her mother's on the pillow. She was now begging. "Maman, please. Please don't leave me. What will I do without you?" she asked sniffling.

"Oh, I know you will do great things, Meg. I can feel it. But I have taught you that you must do some things on your own. That time has come, my dear." She finally turned to face Erik.

"Erik, come here." He approached her bedside just s Meg had. He kneeled down beside her to better hear her. "Erik, do remember what you promised me all those years ago?"

Only too well. "Yes, of course, Antoinette."

"And will you keep that promise, as now my time is near?"

"Absolutely."

With her free hand, Madame took one of his hands and held it with all her might. "See that you do. She is my only child, and the one thing in this world I have loved most." He nodded in compliance.

"Good." Her demeanor now paler than ever, Antoinette turned once again to her daughter. "Meg, you know that I love you, don't you?"

Meg's sobs had subsided, although tears were still evident. "Of course Maman! Honestly!"

Her mother chuckled slightly at this. "Be strong, _ma cherie_. And know I am always with you." Antoinette Giry's eyes closed for the final time as she lay in that bed, her daughter crying to her right, and her friend kneeling at her left.

**A/N – Oh my God. I've been away from this story for who knows how long, and I give you this? I am an awful person for killing off Mme Giry. But I wouldn't have done it if it weren't absolutely necessary for the plot later on. I think next chapter is when things pick up a little, I terms of the plot, that is.**

**On the bright side, I finally got back to this piece! Yay! I totally thought I could handle two pieces at the same time…WRONG! Ace of Gallifrey, I don't know how you do it with 4+ stories. Just dealing with two drove me mad! Ah well, must face the consequences of my actions.**

**Whoa, I'm rambling now. It's late, can you tell? :P Review? **


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